


It's Easier

by Cheeto_the_Cat



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Antarctic Empire, Dream Smp, Minecraft Mondays, Wilbur wasn't always bad and I stand by that, character exploration, no seriously this is just them being friends, they're best friends your honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:07:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27501280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheeto_the_Cat/pseuds/Cheeto_the_Cat
Summary: It’s easier, Techno thinks, if he pretends Wilbur was always this way, that he met him like this. But he isn’t. And he didn’t.-In which Techno tries, and fails miserably, to act like he never thought much of Wilbur in the first place.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Technoblade
Comments: 13
Kudos: 200





	It's Easier

It’s easier, Techno thinks, if he pretends Wilbur was always this way, that he met him like this. But he isn’t. And he didn’t. 

He met Wilbur in a tournament not exactly known for its friendliness, the price pool hanging over their heads far too large to allow for the respectful competition initially promised. He had long since given up on making friends through this avenue, cycling through different teammates week to week as people got progressively more bitter at his victories.

It had been all too easy to slip on the unfeeling, uncaring, unrelenting persona that people seemed so desperate to push on him. “Blood for the Blood God'' rolled easily off his tongue as a means of explanation, a joke whose sarcasm didn’t quite come across to those who heard it. His monotone voice and presence didn’t aid in creating a sociable demeanor, and so he took this with stride, aiming to amplify these qualities rather than fight against them. And it worked. So well. Scarily well. Soon, boys and girls who laughed easily with their friends quieted themselves in his presence, afraid to make eye contact or do anything to render themselves a target. 

Techno, for all the fear he imposed, was not a social person. He didn’t do well with large groups of people, tended to keep to himself and quietly dominate rather than boast. In this sense, his reputation was an asset. He was never expected to participate in the performance of small talk, to act like he cared when he didn’t. He never worried about coming off too mean or aggressive- this was what the people wanted, what his allies expected. 

So, he kept the English major in himself tucked within his red cloak. He pretended as though his crown and cape were representative of his inevitable victory, not the results of an old childhood costume, one where he played the valiant hero he read about in all his storybooks.

It was a lonely mantle he found himself standing upon, overlooking a sea of competitors who were too afraid to treat him like a person.

Then, in some fortuitous error, Wilbur Soot barrels into his life.

He immediately makes fun of Techno’s pink hair, of his refusal to swear, and talks a mile a minute in his way of commentating everything he does. He tries to charm his way out of any situation, sweeping his curled hair out of his eyes and flirting with anyone who gives him a chance to. He’s utterly ridiculous, no good at combat and a poor teammate at best; he gets frustrated easily and has no patience for parkour. They place third in the tournament he’s expected to win.

Techno wants desperately to play with him again.

Because unlike everyone else, Wilbur laughs.

Not the nervous sort of huff he’s grown to expect from new teammates, one that portrays confusion as to whether or not the sarcastic comment he made was actually serious. Not the polite chuckle born from when he makes a reference his ally doesn’t understand, trying to get in his good graces. Wilbur laughs with his whole chest, throwing his head back and cackling at a joke everyone else would have ignored. He’d actually been paying attention to what Techno was saying, he had realized with a shock. His eyes crinkle shut and his shoulders shake, and Techno has to stop and recognize how vulnerable he was in that moment, how vulnerable both of them were, standing in the secluded corner of a hunger games arena, regaining their composure after a fight: Wilbur with his eyes shut and posture relaxed, and Techno just watching, enamoured by the way his words had made such an impact on such a person. 

Wilbur somehow sees right through him, straight past Techno’s carefully built persona and right into the socially awkward nerd he had tried so hard to hide. He tells Techno he likes him immediately, with none of that small talk he so despised, and resolves to burrow a hole into his life and stay there. And the scariest part is, Wilbur keeps looking, still interested, even when he doesn’t live up to his infamous reputation. He prods Techno about his life and opens up his own for Techno to see, pulling out details and stories for him like one would pluck strings on a guitar, and somehow Techno finds himself offering up bits of himself in return for the music. 

Techno can’t remember the last time he was so fond of someone, much less the last time someone was fond of him.

Then Wilbur meets Phil, and Phil meets Techno (Phil laughs even harder than Wilbur did), and then they all meet each other and it’s off to the races for them. Their relationship progresses in a flurry of late nights and tournaments, of parkour practice and extensive strategizing over how to win buildmart. They win some of these tournaments, and lose plenty as well, not that Techno is really hung up over it at this point. 

He continues teaming with Wilbur, despite his competitive interests, finding solace in a man who wraps his words around himself like a security blanket, who extends this comfort to Techno when he finds his own speech lacking in the warmth Wilbur’s exudes. Techno reckons that he could be content like this forever, basking in the light of Wilbur’s stories, of a persona that was big enough for both of them, of a person who always laughed at his jokes. 

Techno no longer finds a need to act as the bloodthirsty figure everyone found him to be, at least around his friends; Wilbur spins a different story for him, tethering him to his own sphere of reality where he’s valued for his personality rather than his skill with a sword.

Wilbur quotes poetry absentmindedly to Techno one cold night in the Antarctic Empire and is surprised when Techno quotes it right back. He then proceeds to spend an evening with him under the stars dragging out his knowledge of literature, carefully prying open secrets and unraveling words like loose pieces of string in a sweater. Techno confesses he had always been a fan of fairy tales, and Wilbur laughs like he already knew.

What he wouldn’t give for the warmth of those nights in the Antarctic.

It would be easier to pretend that his friend had always been paranoid. That he was always this close to snapping, that his words had always been harsh and biting, that he had always been so cold. That he had been wary of him from the beginning. But he wasn’t. And he hadn’t.  
It’s easier to pretend like he was, because it hurts less. Because this way, he doesn’t need to remember that Wilbur is, somewhere deep inside him, a friend who preferred a yellow sweater and round glasses to a trenchcoat, and was filled with so many words that he once used like threads to form tapestries instead of webs.

He doesn’t need to hear his frantic speech and remember the way words used to drip from his mouth like crystalline honey rather than spray like venom. He doesn’t need Wilbur’s paranoia to clash so clearly with the man who laughed in open battle simply because he thought Techno’s joke was funny enough that it merited it. He doesn’t need to see Wilbur fold in upon himself, carefully hiding his plans from everyone else out of fear, when he used to share all his thoughts in grand, sweeping gestures, laughing around a table with his friends as he shares his next big theory for how they could win the upcoming tournament, eyes alight with passion and good humor. 

He doesn’t need any of it.

He doesn’t need Wilbur.

When Wilbur said that Techno was never on his side he had to laugh to himself, because for so long he wasn’t aware there was another. Wilbur had been so all-encompassing, all-eclipsing, that when he had heard Wilbur needed help he had come immediately, pulled along like a string was attaching the two of them, fixing them to each other’s side. What had happened to the man who could see so clearly right through him, that he could now only see the persona he had never fallen for before?

Maybe Wilbur needs him.

But Techno pretends like that Wilbur was gone, or better yet, never there. He nods along when Tommy says Wilbur is beyond redemption now, doesn’t back up Niki when she suggests peaceful intervention. He says he only cares for anarchy, slides right back into the Blood God persona that he used to hide underneath when Wilbur wasn’t there to drag him out of it. He pretends Wilbur was always bad, always corrupt, that he was never, at one point, his stupidly funny, determined-to-sort-things-out-with-words, impossibly bright friend.

He was always a poor leader, Techno decides, always power hungry. He tries to forget about that time he and Phil thought it would be funny to claim all the land in an old, long-forgotten server, to declare themselves the new rulers of the world by technicality alone.

Wilbur had pulled them up in front of a shabby courtroom overlooking a lake and told them to give people their countries back. Techno had tried not to laugh as Wilbur explained why they can’t just do that, that people deserve their homes, no matter if they’re powerful enough to defend them. He didn’t care that it was technically not illegal, only that people had been hurt by Techno’s actions and he wanted it to stop (Techno wonders if a similar mindset had persisted under Schlatt and Dream).

And Wilbur had looked at Techno then, disappointment and exhaustion heavy in his dark eyes, pleading with him silently to just take his peace deal and go. Wilbur didn’t want to fight him on this, but he would if he needed to. He remembers it clear as day, the guilt seeping through him as his cape whipped around in the frigid wind and his hair stayed held down by the crown he insisted on wearing, shifting uncomfortably in his chair as he was lectured. Wilbur wasn’t wearing a cape, or a crown. But he commanded a certain sort of power, even when sleep-deprived and desperate, the kind that drew his posture straight and brightened his eyes. He carried a clarity of morals with him in that moment, so determined to do the right thing and convince his friend. His speech was steady and measured, cautiously explaining his stance like he knows he’s already won this battle.

This musician stood tall in the face of two of the world’s strongest enemies, with no hatred or fear, and he looked like all those heroes Techno wanted to be growing up. He pulled Techno and Phil back off of their podiums, talked them into the ground as he berated them for misconduct he knows they’re better than, all while keeping his composure. The sun was shining in his eyes as he tried to look up at Wilbur; his friend’s face was framed by light, turning his dark hair pale as wisps curled away from his features. Techno had never been so thoroughly ashamed, never felt bad for his actions in any sense of the word, in fact. No one had expected any better from him, but Wilbur had, and he had let him down. Wilbur, for all his jokes and mischief, cared deeply about the citizens of this vast world, and he threw all of his words into a condemnation of what Techno had done to undermine them.

Techno had all the power in this situation. He didn’t need to listen to this unarmored man with only words to defend himself. He had just taken over the world. 

But Wilbur was right. And both of them knew it. 

He had been such a glorious sight in that moment, statuesque and noble, and Techno couldn't argue with the man who talked as if fate itself was on his side. He had been certain right then and there that this was Wilbur’s destiny: to guide others with his words to prosperity and harmony, to encourage pacifism in the face of violence and tyranny.

Wilbur had always been larger than life itself, loud and brave and good, so full of light. He drew people to his causes so easily, sweeping them up into the sky with him as he wove stories around them to bolster their spirits and keep them afloat. It hurts to see Wilbur so small, now, pushing himself into a corner and pretending as though his options are limited when he used to believe he could do anything, when he would have taken on the world with just his guitar and his words.

It’s easier to forget it now than remember. 

So yes, Wilbur was always insane, always a poor leader and a bad friend and Techno had never once clung to him for comfort, never once spent a night quietly confessing to him that he did, in fact, like the Princess Bride.

He wonders if he could have shot Wilbur if it had been him trapped on that podium. If it was his execution instead. 

Would Wilbur have talked him down, the light shining in his hair and eyes again, still calm and confident that he could charm his way out of this one? Would Techno have seen his favorite version of his friend, bold and determined, one last time?

He wonders if he is carrying out some version of it right now, trying to kill the version of his friend in his mind he knows to be the true one.

Put simply, he supposes, it’s easier to forget because it hurts to imagine a universe where he allows himself to care, allows himself to try and reach his friend under all the pain, and is rejected because he does not have the words that can explain why he just wants his friend back.

**Author's Note:**

> This was so self-indulgent and fun to write, and kind of came about as a result of people saying Techno didn't really care about Wilbur in the Dream SMP, because, like, it's more interesting if he does. It's about the historyyyy
> 
> I really appreciate comments, so go crazy, I would love to hear all your thoughts.
> 
> Might write another version but from Wilbur's point of view, or maybe the same format but with different characters. If you have any in mind, don't be afraid to share <3


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